


Late Nights

by Fayola



Series: All My Days [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, that's literally it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayola/pseuds/Fayola
Summary: I’m not gonna lie, all I’ve read of Lost Light is the first three episodes and the panels where they declare their undying love for one another. And Iswear to MORGAN FREEMANthat if anything has happened to them –





	Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not gonna lie, all I’ve read of Lost Light is the first three episodes and the panels where they declare their undying love for one another. And I _swear to MORGAN FREEMAN_ that if anything has happened to them –

     Tailgate cursed as he felt the cables in his upper legs start to tremble. He shifted his weight, trying to relieve some of the strain, but groaned when all it brought about was a slick grind of his anterior node against hot pelvic armor beneath him with each heavy downward thrust. It had taken absolute _ages_ for Cyclonus to prep his valve to the purple mech’s satisfaction – not that Tailgate hadn’t enjoyed the hot mouth and gentle fingers coaxing him through an overload and to the edge of a second, but he’d been dying to be stuffed with his partner’s spike _all day_ – and he wasn’t about to let something as ridiculous as _stamina_ ruin this for him now!

     As if sensing Tailgate’s need, careful claws extracted themselves from the spokes of his tires and slid up to grasp his waist, easily encircling it.

     “Oh, _yes_ ,” the minibot moaned as those strong hands effortlessly hefted his weight, maintaining the hurried pace. “Oh, that’s – _hnngh_ – _yes_.”

     There came a deep rumble of assent, and Tailgate opened his optics to drink in the sight of the larger mech sprawled out beneath him.

     It didn’t disappoint.

     Garnet optics were over-bright and half shuttered, but still sharp in their focus, looking up at him with that unwavering intensity that never failed to make Tailgate’s spark shiver. Mouthplates were parted, panting hotly. There was a tenseness to the jaw that Tailgate had grown to recognize as a tell that his partner’s overload was close. The residue of Tailgate’s lubricant, still smeared across chin and cheekplates, only added to debauched look.

     Tailgate wished, not for the first time, that he was tall enough to reach up and press his faceplate to those lips.

     Ah, well. There was time for that after.

     Bracing a hand against ridged abdominal armor, he reached with the other between his own legs, stroking the thick base of the lubricant-slicked spike – just a coquettish ‘hello’ before moving on to his own anterior node. He hummed in satisfaction when that burning crimson gaze dropped to follow those fingers.

     “So good,” Tailgate panted, pinching his slippery little node between his index and middle fingers, wiggling it back and forth to the increasing pace of Cyclonus’s thrusts. “Scrap, that’s – oh! – _so_ good, you’re so good to me…”

     The answering growl was low and gravelly and had Tailgate’s legs quivering again. He gasped, cooling fans stuttering, and stubby white fingers redoubled their efforts on his nub.

     “Oh, Primus,” he whimpered, and Cyclonus growled again.

     “Who?” He snapped his hips up, holding Tailgate’s down and grinding up into his aft.

     “ _Cyclonus!_ ”

       “Mm, _yes_.” He resumed bouncing Tailgate in his lap in earnest, and the minibot could do little more than grip his lover’s wrists, crying out with each gloriously deep thrust. “ _Louder_. Let the whole ship know who you belong to. _Sing for me_ , Tailgate…”

       Stretched to his limit over that thick spike, senses battered by the overwhelming EM field pulsing with possessive desire, spark whirling wildly as those deep, rumbled words went straight to his core – Tailgate broke, throwing his helm back with a wail that was meant to be his lover’s name, cries crescendoing with each wave of pleasure that crashed over him.

       Cyclonus continued to thrust through his overload, yanking him down on his spike with near heedless abandon, and when Cyclonus finally overloaded with a snarl, the discharge of energy, crackling both inside and out, sent Tailgate tumbling over the edge again.

       He must have been forced into a hard reboot, though he couldn’t have been out for long – when he finally managed to peel his optic shutters open, Cyclonus was still trembling through an aftershock beneath him, one arm draped over his back. Tailgate contented himself with simply burying his faceplate against overly-hot chestplates for a moment, though the twinge in his over-sensitive valve when he shifted atop his lover was good motivation to finally move.

     “Hrnngh.” Pushing himself up on shaky arms, Tailgate gingerly found his footing on the berth, knees wobbling dangerously as he stood.

     “Fragging Pit,” he panted shakily. Gyros spinning, he fell back, aft connecting with Cyclonus’s propped up legs. He clutched at one of his lover’s knees. “Fragging… _frag_.”

     The smirk Cyclonus shot him had a particularly smug edge to it. Tailgate tried to cobble together something disapproving to say about that, but the halting thought process stalled completely when Cyclonus ran his hands up his legs. Still-wobbly joints threatened to give out as Cyclonus grabbed a handful of tire on each leg and _squeezed_.

     “Tired?” Cyclonus inquired, a bit too casually.

     “N-no?” Tailgate didn’t mean for the stuttered response to sound so much like a question, but it was too late to take it back, if the increasingly predatory look he was receiving was anything to go by.

     “Good.”

     The shriek he let out as he was snatched off his feet was entirely involuntary, as was the groan when Cyclonus lowered him back down over his face. It seemed Tailgate was in for a long night. Although, he reasoned as he shakily gripped the long, curved horns between his legs for support, he couldn’t really feel _that_ upset about it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at getting back into writing. Shameless smut seemed the easiest way to go?


End file.
